


Our House

by j_gabrielle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:07:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friday nights after work on the couch watching the telly and laughing, mornings spent waking up to him and him alone, taking care of him because he forgets to do it when he’s too caught up making sure everyone else it safe. </p><p>He wants to no longer be alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our House

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened. *runs away and hides*

It hits home for James when he wakes up in the cold blue light of an early autumn morning, and _he_ is next to him. It’s cold (he must’ve forgotten about turning up the thermostat), but it doesn’t explain how their bodies are pressed this close together, as if at any given moment, their bodies could melt and meld into each other.

James finds himself breathing against the gentle slope of Q’s nape, the faint smell of coffee, cologne and James on his naked skin stirs up something primal in him; the need to take and mark and reaffirm once more that he owns the body he holds safe in his arms. Instead, he shifts their bodies until Q is on his front and James is smoothing invisible lines down his back.

They’re in his bed, in his room, in his flat with views of the Thames and the city, the one that he wishes he comes back to more often. Whenever he does though, Q is there with him.

James wonders idly if he could find ghosts, traces of the Quartermaster tucked away in every nook and cranny of his own home, just waiting to be found.

The skin against his front is furnace warm. It is a stark contrast to the chilled air of the room. Pressing a string of kisses on Q’s shoulder, James gets up carefully. Q had been up for 54 hours, fuelled by caffeine and adrenaline, managing a crisis that James wasn’t supposed to know about. He’d found out in the end, even when M’s lips thinned considerably and sweat began to dot Tanner’s brow, because it was Q, and James wouldn’t be kept in the dark about what was happening around him especially after M decided to lock them in a supply closet and told them to ‘do whatever it is necessary so that the rest of us are spared from your unresolved sexual tensions’. So, it was his fault really.

The younger man snuffled into the pillow. James brushed away the hairs covering his face, smiling slightly. In his sleep, Q looked as if he was 12, not the mid-twenties that he was now in. It should make him feel wrong, like he was sullying an innocent, naïve creature. But then he remembers the nail marks on his back that stung like a bitch for a week and the marks eternally scratched onto the hardwood floor from the bed moving and the way that he can remember finger shaped bruises that bloomed purple and blue on a pale landscape.

Like his aunt always said, it’s the quiet, unassuming ones you have to look out for.

He slips into a pair of pyjama pants with little duck patterns and a sweater. Q had bought it for him as a laugh, but it had ended up being a mainstay along with a drawer full of other things bought for each other for reasons just because. The floor is like ice against his bare feet. He moves quietly to the main control panel of the flat, turning up the heat.

It had been three weeks since he was here last, spending those times in HQ in Q’s squeaky IKEA bed that has seen better days. James has a cleaner that comes in every week to keep the place. It’s a nice place when he bought it and it’s a nice place still, but something is missing about the very air he was breathing now that he cannot place.

James shakes it off, choosing to move to the kitchen and start on the first batch of coffee. God knows Q would be only a notch below ‘Evil Snarling Dragon’ before he had had a hit of caffeine in his system. Sometimes, James wonders privately if Q had ever thought of mainlining coffee straight into his heart.

“Morning.”

He has barely time to react when his mug of coffee is liberated from his hands and taken across the kitchen, only to have four spoonfuls of sugar and a grand dollop of honey added to it.

“You could’ve have poured yourself a cup. Using your own cup and leaving my coffee alone.” James says. He moves to wrap his arms around Q’s skinny form, making a mental note to fatten him up. Q moans into his coffee in response. Smiling gently, he leans in to kiss the back of Q’s ear, tracing his jaw with his lips. “Good morning.”

He feels Q lean back into him. The mug being placed on the counter heard more than seen. All that he has on is one of James’ button up shirts and a pair of James’ faded boxers that seemed to be slipping past the jut of his hips.

They are in dire need of a shower, more sleep, and some nourishment, but all James can think about was how contented he is. How holding Q feels like the one thing he had been made for, how perfect it feels to be standing in a kitchen he doesn’t use for much, standing barefoot on cold tiles, feeling the heartbeat of the man in his arms resonate through his body.

And then he sees it.

Friday nights after work on the couch watching the telly and laughing, mornings spent waking up to him and him alone, taking care of him because he forgets to do it when he’s too caught up making sure everyone else it safe. Making love to him in the bed—in their bed, telling him everyday that he is worth loving, that is perfect the way he is. Opening up the cupboards and dressers to see that half of the space is occupied by his suits and the other half by his cardigans and sweaters. Two toothbrushes at the bathroom sink, their shampoos and soaps mingling in the showers, and finally having someone to come home to and to hold him through the nightmares.

James wants it all. He wants to walk around his flat and know that it is a place of love and respect. He wants to spend mornings just holding Q in his arms as they watch the city come alive outside their window. He wants to read a book on the couch while Q is caught up in his projects, and pull him to bed to distract him when he gets bored of being ignored. He wants to argue over trivial things and then make up for it. He wants to do the dishes and cook in the kitchen. He wants to no longer be alone.

“…James?” Q’s voice is worried. He is staring up at him, eyes wide. James has always loved his eyes without the glasses.

“Move in with me. Come and live with me.” He whispers. “I just… I just want to have you here andI have enough space for your things and I-”

“Yes.”

“-really would like-What?” James turns Q around and presses him against the countertop. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Q smiles, “I would like to share your home with you. But be warned,” His eyes twinkle, “I may be a horrible housemate to have.”

James feels a sense of a weight lifting from him. “I think I can live with that.” He grins and leans down for a kiss. Smoothing his hand at the hem of his shirt, he thinks back on when he woke up and it dawns on him that just as much as Q belongs to him, he belongs to Q too and that is an undeniable truth.

They have yet to say those words to each other. It is constantly on the tip of his tongue, but he knows well not to treat them lightly. James will definitely say them. And when he does, he will make every single one of them count.

Q smiles against his lips, wrapping his arms around his neck, and purring away happily like an overfed cat. James can feel the warmth of the golden sunlight seeping into the walls of their home.


End file.
